


marked

by dinosaurspaceship



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurspaceship/pseuds/dinosaurspaceship
Summary: Soulmate AU.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	marked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelittlehobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlehobbit/gifts).



> There's a pandemic, why not just try out all the tropes?

Her sixth grade english teacher was a failed novelist, failed actress, failed trophy wife. The writing assignments she would give out were wildly inappropriate for the grade, but Gerri loved her dearly. There’d be days when she’d be so maudlin, she wouldn’t allow the class to go on, shifting between monologues and heavy sighs. The idea that this woman could be so compelling while being terrible at her job was an exhilarating concept.

She learned many things from Ms. Easton, nothing of english, but there were a few wits she carries with her to this day. One was of great comfort, “A soulmark is a curse before a blessing.”

Gerri held those words as comfort on her 18th birthday, while she inspected her body and found no marks. She checked every day for a week, standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling at her skin as if wanting was enough to manifest a mark. A trip to the library on the 8th day, head buried in a terribly dry textbook on the history and science of marks, convinced her Ms. Easton was right. She was better off. 

In college, she took a sociology class for a required credit, which was a mistake. Soulmates and the Sexual Revolution, it was called, and it exhumed all the shame and fear she had contended with those few years before. She hated every second of the class, every discussion centered around the societal, evolutionary importance of the thing. Until one day, a mousy brunette, who wore all black and smoked cloves outside the hall until 2 minutes after lecture began, raised her hand during a discussion on the importance of sexual purity for marked women.

“What if a woman was to have two marks?” she asked, with a calm that spoke volumes to Gerri, but seeming played as dull to the rest of the class. 

“There are very few cases of double marks,” the professor explained, “I’m not aware of any cases where the individual was a woman.” 

“But conceivably, if there are male examples, female examples exist.” 

“Hypothetically yes,” the professor replies, agitation in his voice.

“So in that case, moralistically, it’s beneficial for society for her to what? Wait for both to materialize or just commit to one soulmate, while the other is waiting in the wings? Or is it a larger societal impact, if overtime marks per individual grow, shall we shift to a polyamorous society. You’re argument for the righteous respect of the mark, implies those without it or more than one carry a lesser value, but what if its actually more evolved. I can take my answer outside, thanks.” 

The professor was off a step for the rest of the lecture, and it brought Gerri a little bit of joy on a shitty day. She doesn’t know what gives her the courage but she calls out to the woman when they’re on the sidewalk outside the hall. 

“That was great, your question in there,” she says offering a soft smile, hopefully denoting kinship. 

“Fucking tool,” she says, shaking her head, but she offers a soft smile back, “Lydia.” Offering her hand.

“Gerri,” she introduces herself. “Are you a psychology student?” 

“Tragically yes, you don’t strike me as the type though.” 

“Philosophy,” she provides. 

“Pre-law, huh? Interesting, you going this way?” 

“Yeah,” she says, following her lead. 

It takes four months before it comes up. When you're young, 18-19, everyone always asks about marks, the newness and curiosity too fruitful to ignore, a time before the trauma of it all sets in. But the older people get, the less they seem to be interested in discussing the two letters on their skin. They’re in her dorm, complaining about coursework, Lydia laying on her bed sorting through a box of records. She turns upside down to study a cover, revealing her stomach and hips and Gerri sees it. AP. 

She stares, rudely, eyes glued to the letters. She must have stopped speaking when she saw it because Lydia’s looking at her like she’s lost the plot, before following her eyes. 

“Want to see the other one?” 

“So there is another one?” 

“Yeah,” she pulls up the sleeve of her shirt on right arm, and points to another set of initials, just above her armpit. “AP and JW” 

Something so dark and weird comes over her she can’t contain it, laughing uncontrollably, slapping her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I just, I’m so so sorry,” she giggles through, “what do you do about that?” 

Lydia, to her credit, starts laughing too. “Fuck if I know. Meet a very nice AP and JW and hope they have two too. I think I’d give polygamy a shot.” 

Gerri’s eyes widen a little at the thought. 

She meets Baird Kellman her 3rd year at Waystar. She was brought on as a junior associate, supporting HR and communications, which is fine, but pretty boring from her perspective. It took 2 years to stop being given secretarial work, and she’s proud of the progress she’s made but still finds it annoying to be stuck looking over press releases and IP disclosures. 

Baird is the senior legal counselor covering contracts, mergers, acquisitions, and international affiliates, what Gerri really wants to do. He’s stiff, witty but in a very dry way that doesn’t make it clear if he’s intentionally being funny. She’s not immediately taken with him, there is a tone he gets, an air of derision that weighs everything else down when he’s frustrated or out maneuvered, that distracts her. But there’s some whimsy too, he loves tortoises and plays the saxophone. 

They date for a couple months before he asks. 

“I don’t,” she says, feeling both a large weight being lifted with the confession but knowing the sadness that comes next. “Do you?”

“I did,” he says softly, “my highschool sweetheart. We both got them, 22 days apart.” He takes a breath, “she died in a car accident when we were 25.” 

“I am so sorry,” she says, wanting to reach out and touch him, provide some sort of comfort, but not knowing what is best. The thought, to have a soulmate there from day one, know so clearly what your life is supposed to be, who it’s supposed to be made with, and to have it all ripped away, Gerri can’t even consider the pain of it.

“Life,” he says, shaking his head like there is no other language to support the enormity he feels about it. 

There isn’t some magic that happens, they don’t suddenly have each other's initials on their skin, but eventually she has his last name, and they have a life together that breeds new life. And she still thinks Ms. Easton is right, because her markless life is good and easy, seeing all the cursed drama and suffering she needs through Lydia, who is busy trying to manage a man and woman she absolutely adores without any chance of success. 

Baird has a heart attack at the age of 64 and then another one at 65, which he doesn’t survive. Her first thought was she was happy it was him first, that he didn’t deserve to go through this pain twice. The first month is hard, she takes 2 weeks off of work but between extended family and the girls, she’d rather have her head in briefs than staring at an empty chair, favorite mug, empty office, his fucking jacket by the door. 

Logan offers her a promotion when she comes back, and it’s a certain kindness. The work is consuming, captures her days, nights, weekends, a darkness that gives her purpose. Personal existence is too temporal, institutions are much safer, reasoned.

It’s a cosmic joke, a trick of the devil. The day she takes off her wedding band, initials appear on her skin. RR. San-serif, clear as day, clean to the touch, where her right leg meets her torso. She can’t bring herself to consider that her mark is basically in her groin. She only tells Lydia, who finds it immensely amusing, mostly because she couldn’t stand Baird. Lydia starts providing a list of all the R named men she knows, hoping for a match, switching to women when she runs out. 

“Don’t expect anything to happen,” Lydia warns her, the tone soft as if she was talking her through a bad trip. “It’s not magic, it’s not love at first sight, plenty of people are out there who don’t even feel love for their soulmates, I don’t want you to get caught up in this, as much fun as I’m having.”

“I know,” Gerri says, maybe trying to convince herself. “I’m not 18, I understand how the world works,” she jokes, but doesn’t really feel the words, being that she’s a 55 year old woman who just got a soulmark for the first time. 

“I wish it was somewhere more obvious, I’ll just be running around looking for a man with GH on his hand or something.” 

“It will be GH, won't it?” she asks, not having thought about it for decades. 

“Yeah, someone out, I mean statistically many someones, but you get the idea, someone out there has GH in their crotch, and I hope I find them first,” Lydia proclaims. 

“It’s on the leg, it’s not in their crotch.” 

“Okay sure.”

It becomes idle fodder for Lydia and her for years, a fruitless search, something to joke about on vacations and dinners. 

She’s tucked in with Karolina and Cyd at Shiv’s wedding, most of the madness from the whole affair wrapped up. They had all just been visited by Caroline, making her rounds, asking how long the marriage has, when Karolina brings it up. 

“They’re not a soul match right?” 

“No, I imagine they’re both markless, Shiv doesn’t have one, if she did, it’d probably be SR for herself. I can’t imagine Wambsgans having one and going through with this,” Cyd provides. 

“Do any of the Roys have one?” Karolina asks, surveying the room. 

“Just Roman I think,” Cyd replies. “Frank said something about thinking it might have been his ex Grace, but who knows with that kid.” 

It surprises her, having seen Roman with Grace, it would be a shock to find out they were soul mates, but then again, love might be different for Roys. 

They’re on the plane back from Japan when she realizes: Grace Hampsted. She closes her eyes for what feels like an hour, wishing the thought away, again and again. Nausea fades in and out, as does sheer panic, she’s sweaty and cold at the same time. By the time they make it to the Hamptons she’s near her breaking point. 

While the rest of the family plots and fights, she is methodically searching for an explanation that clears this up. But all she can come back to is needing to see it. She might remember the girl’s name wrong, it could have been Ampstad. It might not be on his leg. There’s even a chance if it is there, it’s another GH, some randomness in the universe that is statistically near impossible, but so was Lydia’s double mark, so.

She thinks about asking Shiv, but doesn’t trust her, doesn’t know how to play it and it won't come off as bizarre. People don’t ask people those kinds of things in polite society. 

Gerri waits until she’s back in the city to call Frank. Making it through most of the pleasantries and life updates, does the required apology for turning on their deal so quickly. 

“I have an unpleasant question I have to ask, and I’d hope it could stay between the two of us.” She starts. 

“Shoot.” 

“Roman has a soul mark, have you seen it?” She winces as she asks it, feeling gross. 

“Fuck what has he done now?” Frank sounds tried, a little sad. 

“Nothing, I promise, it’s nothing bad, I just need to know, where it is.” 

“It's on his hip, leg maybe, where your leg meets your hip. I can’t remember which side, but it’s GH.” He explains, slowing at the end. 

“Okay,” Gerri sighs. 

“Gerri,” Frank starts, using the voice she normally associates with Kendall and his terrible ideas, “I don’t want to be rude, but your maiden name is what?” 

“Harris,” she provides, disappointed that it’s true. 

“Okay, well you know, I didn’t ever expect that,” he says and she can hear he’s trying to stop himself from laughing. 

She still hasn’t said it out loud, can’t really come to terms with it yet, but the fact that someone else knows makes it feel real. And the reality of it is astonishingly hilarious. 

They laugh for a while, every time one of them would start to fade, the other would lose it. But eventually, her breathing levels out, and she hears Frank sigh. 

“He’s a good kid, there’s potential there.” 

“Yeah,” she says softly, not quite ready for it all. 

“Does he know?” 

“No.” 

“Anyone else know?” 

“No.” 

“I won’t say anything,” he promises, “might not mean much, being on the outs, but I’d never say anything.”

“Thank you Frank,” she says, genuinely. Signing off shortly after, letting the reality of it settle over her. 

  
  


She’s hyper aware of him. She’s been cycling between a conviction that he knows and he’s just a complete idiot. At Kendall’s kid’s birthday he’s next to her, his hip near her face, defending her sort of while he fights with Shiv. He calls her for help on the Vaulter stuff when he’s stuck. She watches him play on the proxy battle. 

And then Frank comes back and Roman fucks up the Pierce thing. Frank pulls her aside, the usual pleasantries, but she knows what he wants to know, a tight shake of the head telling him what he needs. 

The problem is that she likes him, genuinely enjoys his company and humor, the way he can’t seem to ever just sit in a chair like a normal person. He’s fun and no one else in her life is fun. Most of the time she forgets the marks, he’s just a terrible unprepared COO, whom she feels responsible for. 

But then things happen, like she’s in his room and he’s sulking, and she offers to button his shirt. The last button left undone, so near it. Watches as he finishes and tucks the shirt in, his hand brushing his mark she’s sure of it. It’s a relief when he agrees to go to management training. A chance for some space and reflection. 

But then the calls start and it’s real, the connection. She thinks it’s a fluke the first time, but it’s 6 weeks and they don’t stop. They don’t stop after Tern Haven or Argestes or the night before he flies to Turkey. And what was fun and good and real, now has a weird secret element to it, that makes her a little sick. 

She spends a night just staring at it, knowing Roman is in a hostage situation across the world and the only way she knows he’s okay is through the dumb little letters on her body. So by the time he, Laird, and Karl arrive on the yacht, she’s ready. 

They survive the morning sword poking, Roman defending her in a surprisingly effective way. But she’s still uneasy, confident it won't be her, but confused what other options Logan thinks he has. She’s on the pool deck, watches as Shiv and Tom leave on the speed boat. There’s a sorrow to them, everyone really, that gives her the determination to do it. 

Roman’s sitting on a lounger, sunglasses on, possibly sleeping, but his breathing isn’t quite right. She puts her hand on his forearm, getting his attention, “Rome,” she says softly. 

He removes his glasses with his free arm, staring at her with sleepy, haggard eyes. She doesn’t say anything else, just gives his arm a little squeeze and then heads down to her room. 

He follows shortly thereafter just opening the door and closing it without knocking. 

“What’s up?” he asks, a hand trying to work out some of the stiffness in his neck. 

“I’ve been keeping something from you, that I probably shouldn’t have but, here we go.” She takes a breath. 

“I know.” He says before she can continue. 

“What?” 

He unbuttons his pants, leaving them zipped but pulls them down over his hip, showing a small, crisp GH, exactly the same spot as hers. Seeing it, on his hip, this man she actually adores, she can’t think of this thing as a curse any longer. Fuck Ms. Easton.

“When did you figure it out?” 

He looks a little embarrassed, “I didn’t really, I broke up with Tabitha, sort of confessed, not to anything that’d come back to you, but like that I thought I had feelings for you, and she asked about your maiden name. Felt like a fucking idiot. Spent like five months thinking there was a possibility it was Cousin Greg. When did you?” 

“After Japan, someone mentioned Grace and I put it all together,” she admits. 

“Can I see it?” he asks timidly, like it’s the most precious thing in the world. 

She nods, stepping a little closer, pulling down her pants and underwear to show him, the match. He steps closer, even kneels as if there is something secret that needs to be studied. Reaches up with his forefinger, but looks up to her before he touches. It makes her shiver, when he does. 

Switching from his forefinger to his thumb, he strokes it, like he’s worried it might rub off and be some mistake. Eventually, he leans in and kisses it, a tender peck, reverent even, before pulling back, resting on his heels, staring up at her in awe and looking so loving with a huge goofy smile. 

“You’re my soulmate.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So it wasn't what we talked about, but I hope it will do. 
> 
> Might do more, who knows.


End file.
